


Brinebound

by cadmean



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Coercion, Drowning, M/M, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Size Difference, Xeno, non-consensual anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-05-30 19:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19410175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadmean/pseuds/cadmean
Summary: Dién had sworn himself to Eskaire, leviathan god of the sea, decades ago.He just didn't think Eskaire would ever bother to come collect quite like this.





	Brinebound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inelegantly (Lir)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lir/gifts).



They drag Dién out of the brig only when they’ve reached the deepest part of the Colorless Ocean, of course. He could feel the depths of the water below the ship, increasing exponentially as the ship’s journey drags on — and when the Protectorate’s ship finally furls its sails and makes a futile effort at dropping its anchor, he knows his time has come.

The sailors who come for him are all unfamiliar to him, and Dién is surprised by the relief he feels as he tries and fails to recognize their faces. He hasn’t seen Rihaine since his second-in-command had sold him out, but he knows the Protectorate well enough to be sure that they’re probably keeping him elsewhere on the frigate, right along with whoever else betrayed him. The sailors are rough and perfunctory as they lead him up onto the deck, two pairs of hands wrapped tight around his elbows and shoulders, while another is holding the end of the Veil-deadening manacles they’d clasped around Dién’s wrists when they’d first captured him.

The manacles are of an awfully good make, he’d been sad — but not particularly surprised – to find out over the last few days. No matter how much Dién had tried to catch hold of the water through the Veil he hadn’t been able to even _feel_ it, and when, in a last-ditch effort, he’d called out to the god who’d bestowed his powers upon him, Dién had only been answered by silence. Eskaire, gatelord of the Depths and all that lies below, had always preferred to communicate through dreams with his chosen, but even those didn’t reach Dién inside the brig of the Protectorate frigate. Over the years he’d grown so used to the feeling of his god’s power cloaking him that to be without it now, without that constant sense of having a protective hand held over him, felt like he’d lost an eye.

Up on the deck of the ship, so close to the open sea like he hasn’t been in days, the bone-deep echo of Eskaire’s power still lingers. Dién takes a moment to simply close his eyes and bask in what little dregs of it he can catch, and, while he’s at it, turns his face to bathe in the light of the sun. It’s comfortingly warm even this far into the year, and when he opens his eyes again Dién can’t catch sight of a single cloud. It’s a beautiful day to die, truth be told. He really couldn’t have hoped for better.

“Let’s not dawdle,” the Protectorate captain announces from where they’re standing ramrod-straight in front of the railing, arms crossed over their chest and apparently doing their level best to look anywhere but Dièn himself. His reputation, at the very least, is still worth enough to unnerve his captors.

While he’s still deciding whether there’s any point this far into things in trying to figure out the name of the person carrying out his death sentence, the Protectorate captain motions for the sailors surrounding Dién to bring him forward. He’s made to kneel in front of the captain while they once more begin to read out his sentence to him, and if he weren’t facing death, Dién is sure he’d be getting a lot of amusement out of how they seem even more uncomfortable with this arrangement. The rest of the crew, who he can now catch glances of, gathered at the far side of the deck, eye him with the familiar, wary caution of those who’ve faced him battle. 

Dién shakes his head, and focuses back on the Protectorate captain still rattling off his various offenses. They’ve not yet even gotten around to any of the real good ones, he notes with idle exasperation, and since they seem to genuinely be making the effort of listing every single thing he’d done since announcing his independent captaincy of the _Martensite_ , he figures it’s going to take a while until it’s time for the main event. Ridiculous. This kind of intensely nonsensical bureaucracy was part of why he’d first defected and then gone off in pursuit of Eskaire’s patronage in the first place. 

He lets them take their time with it, though. It’s easy enough to focus instead on the steady swaying motion of the ship, and on the sound of the waves lapping against its sides; Dién feels a soft breeze caress his face and the sun shining down on him is the warmest thing he’s felt in weeks. A good day to die in indeed. 

“ —the final sentence being, of course, befitting of a pirate of his caliber: death by drowning,” the Protectorate captain finally finishes with a flourish that would’ve put Rihaine to shame before gesturing for the sailors standing behind Dién to pull him back up to his feet. 

Dién lets himself be led over to a lowered part of the ship’s railing, where a short plank is jutting out over the ocean. He needs no prodding to gingerly step onto it — he’s been on the other end of this more times than he’d have liked. He knows exactly how it goes.

“Dién of Samaä,” the Protectorate captains calls out, louder than strictly necessary but no doubt wanting everyone on board to hear. “Any last words you wish for us to pass on?”

Dién genuinely considers it for the duration of a whole breath before he catches himself and laughs instead. “Fuck you,” he tells the captain along with the gathered crew, raising his voice until he knows it’ll carry, “and _fuck_ Rihaine. If there’s any justice in the world, you’ll make sure I’ll be seeing him down in the depths before the day’s done.”

And with that, Dién sketches a bow as best as he can — and then he jumps off of the side of the ship. 

The water is cold and sharp, and as he suspected he hits it with nowhere near enough force to knock himself out. A calculated move on the Protectorate’s part, he’s certain, because even unconsciousness would’ve been a mercy and the High Judge and his adjudicator-priests have never been anything but. If anything, the shock of hitting the water and quickly sinking beneath the surface only serves to put all of Dién’s senses on full alert: there’s a gut-wrenching sense of familiarity as the water covers him completely, because this is his element, this is his domain, and thanks to Eskaire’s blessing, the ocean has always obeyed him unconditionally. 

Dién now sends a brief prayer to his god _(give me the strength of waves, let the shore crumble before me—)_ and pulls at the water with as much power as he can muster — but with his hands still bound, the power of the Veil within him is deadened before it can even begin to take hold. Blood curls into the water around him in quickly-thickening swirls as he struggles against the metal biting into his wrists. The only good it does him, however, is a steadily sharpening agony as saltwater suffuses the raw flesh and he continues to sink, deeper and deeper. 

His lungs are starting to burn now, and Dién, for all that he knew what was coming, panics. His struggles turn frantic and uncoordinated and continue to have absolutely no effect at all. There’s nothing left for him to do. His vision is rapidly greying out, star-sparks flitting across the darkness, and he needs to breathe— 

And Dién, lungs bursting with the need for air so badly that he can’t even think properly anymore, takes a breath. 

_(—bring storms and the fog of midnight—)  
_

He knows — he _knows_ , because he’s felt the water drown people before — that it doesn’t take more than a few seconds, but when the water enters his nose and filters down his throat and then, only then begins to flood his lungs, the agony of it feels like it’ll never stop. His instinctive, animal reaction is to try and cough it all out — but he only gets as far as opening his mouth and then the water gets in that way, too. 

His lungs burn not with a lack of air now, but from the water that’s filling them. Dién chokes and starts to cough again, but already his reactions are slowing, the motions getting weaker by the second. One last desperate pull at the manacles biting into his wrists is all he manages before the darkness edging his vision closes in completely, swallowing Dién with all the gentleness of a rapier through the ribs.

_(—and pull all those who would oppose me down into the Depths.)_

The ocean embraces him wholly, and it does not let go. 

* * *

And beneath Dién, so far down in the depths of the Colorless Ocean that the waters aren't quite of this world anymore, something stirs.

* * *

Dién awakens to the sound of complete and utter silence. It’s the sort of silence that’s held deep in the bones of every creature, the kind that only shows itself in moments following grand revelations of such magnificence that the world, as a whole, has to hold its breath for just a moment. It’s only when Dién tries to exhale that breath only to find water moving through his nose, that everything comes rushing back and he realizes that is own revelations is that he shouldn’t actually be in a position to have any realizations at all. 

He jerks upright—upright? From where? His head hurts with the intensity of brine and he discards the thought—and opens his eyes to take in his surroundings, scrubbing at his face with hands that he’s surprised to find are no longer bound by manacles. When he peers down to examine them, his wrists are still obviously bruised, but the wounds themselves no longer fresh. 

Another inhale, and it’s easier now. There is definitely still water surrounding him — he can feel it again, a subtle awareness of its mass and flow he’d never quite been able to properly put into words, because how would you describe sight to a blind person? — and while his lungs no longer feel like they’re waterlogged, there’s nevertheless something distinctly wrong with whatever he’s breathing. 

Dién takes another heavy breath, trying to steady his nerves. Quite evidently he’s still alive, though he’s quickly getting the impression that he may have to expand his working definition of the word. Either way, panicking has never gotten him anywhere useful, and so as calmly as he can he sets his hands down on the bed beside his thighs and looks around. He’s on a bed. It’s a nice bed, too; definitely not something you’d find on a ship no matter what its size. The room he’s in is only sparsely furnished — his quarters on the _Martensite_ weren’t exactly lavish, either, but he and Rihaine had fashioned decorations out of the spoils of war they’d taken from other ships — and aside from the bed he’s on there’s only a thick rug and an overly large leather chair.

There’s no windows to speak of, which should concern him if there weren’t so many other things to currently worry about; the door at the far end of the room, meanwhile, appears to be made of heavily-embossed wood and as far as Dién can tell from the bed, it doesn’t appear to have any sort of lock or keyhole. 

Dién spends a good few minutes trying to disentangle himself from the bedsheets, but his legs feel boneless and without strength, and there’s an awfully sharp pain in the muscles of his wrists whenever he tries to flex his fingers. 

“Give it a moment,” a voice says.

Dién’s head snaps up towards the chair, and he instinctively pulls as the water surrounding him to protect himself — but even though his connection to the Veil seems to have returned enough for him to sense the water, it’s not enough yet for him to be able to manipulate it. The water is sluggish, defiant, forcing Dién to quickly give up on it and instead raise his hands, curling them into painful fists. 

For a moment Dién is convinced it’s Rihaine sitting there in the previously empty chair, watching him with those cold blue eyes of his, but as Dién focuses more the resemblance falls apart like silt in a pond. Tall and imposing, there’s something hauntingly familiar about the man sitting in the chair, watching every little twitch Dién makes as he tries to get a better look without drawing too much attention to himself. His hair is long and dark, tied into a loose braid that falls across his shoulders, and it shows none of the salt and pepper that is so evident in the stubble of a beard the man has. His clothes are the sort of wide, ill-fitting tunics that Dién last saw when he was a child, but they appear to be incredibly finely-made even from this distance.

The man smiles wide at Dién, getting up to his feet in one smooth motion and walking over to where Dien’s once more struggling to get free of the bedsheets. He comes to stand right next to his bedside, looming uncomfortably close as he says, “Dién of Samaä. It’s so good to finally be able to meet like this, face to face.” 

Dién’s not sure what to make of that. There’s still the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that he should know this man, though the feeling is markedly different than the one he got from the Protectorate captain — whoever this man is, he feels hauntingly familiar in a way that’s almost painful.

“You’re—” Dién trails off, taking in the almost subservient way the water flows around the man, and the sharp, slightly predatory twist to his smile. It’s the eyes that Dién returns to, though, and it's because of them that he finally begins to get an idea of what's going on: it’s been a while since he’s last seen them flashing bright in his dreams, but those eyes have always been exceptionally difficult to forget. “Eskaire.”

The smile he gets in response is all the confirmation he needs. Dién can’t help another long look at the man — the _god_ — in front of him, and now that he knows what to look for it’s easy to notice all the little details that are just ever so subtly wrong. The teeth just a bit too sharp, the fingers of the hand now reaching out to curl around Dién’s shoulder just a bit too long, the silver scales dotting the flashes of skin revealed by gaps in the loose clothing—it’s astounding, really, how human the god looks while simultaneously being the most inhuman thing Dién has ever come across.

Dién doesn’t know whether he should kneel, or bow, or show his deference in some way, but Eskaire had never demanded anything of the sort before — more the opposite, really. In his travels Dién had encountered a good handful of god-blessed, and from what he'd been able to gather, Eskaire was one of the more off-hands patrons. Picky, the little witch from the last free city-state had deemed him, but ultimately someone who preferred a free spirit in his chosen. Dién had come to agree with that assessment over the years: his encounters with Eskaire had been few and far between, and even then they’d never actually met properly face to face. This, now, was wholly new ground to be covering, and it's with a bitter aftertaste that Dién realizes he doesn’t like it. That uncertainty. 

“Is this a dream?” Dién asks eventually, in lieu of doing anything concrete. He’s always been good at that: waiting, watching, and only acting once he knows where all the pieces have fallen. It’s saved him countless times over his years out on the sea, and though he doesn’t think he’s in any immediate danger from the god he’s pledges himself to, it pays to be cautious. Gods were fickle beings, as Rihaine had never hesitated to point out to Dién. 

Eskaire considers him for a moment, the silence hanging between them heavy with the weight of the tides on a new moon. Cocking his head to the side at an entirely unnatural angle, the god says, “Would you want it to be?”

An easy answer. “No. Am I dead, then?”

The question seems to take Eskaire off-guard, and after a beat, he sits down on the bed next to Dién. “You drowned,” he supplies, as if that’s answer enough. 

“Then why am I here? This can’t be the Depths, can it? There’s—” 

"Oh, no, this isn't the Depths, but I will give you my word that you're _very_ dead," Eskaire interrupts him with a light laugh, the sharp mirth Dién's long since come to associate with him returning in a flash. Eskaire glances across at him as if he's made a particularly creative joke, whispering almost conspiratorially, "But you're also mine, and I don't much like sharing with my siblings.”

Dién is hesitant to let that assertion stand as it is, but he’s not quite sure what else to do in the moment but shrug. 

Perhaps noticing his hesitation, Eskaire graces him with a smile that’s all sharp teeth and too wide for his face by far. “You swore your allegiance to me, didn't you? I gave you my blessing, a piece of my power. And even if you hadn't — all traitors who die at sea belong to me,” he adds after a pause, almost offhandedly in a way that sets Dién’s teeth on edge. 

“I’m not a traitor,” he presses out through lips pressed tight, trying and failing not to think of Rihaine as he says it. 

Again Eskaire only laughs. “Aren’t you? I accept a wide definition when it suits me.” He’s leaning closer to Dién now, their shoulders almost bumping into each other. 

This close Dién can feel the unearthly chill seeping off of the god, and, again strangely dulled, he takes in the way the water all around Eskaire shifts rapidly with every little twitch of the god's lips. 

"So," Dién starts again, unwilling to let the silence continue any longer, "if this isn't the Depths, then you brought me to—?"

"The heart of my own domain," Eskaire readily supplies.

"The heart of your domain. Not the Depths, where you share dominion with your siblings but which would have been the natural choice. Here. _Why_?"

There's a strange glint in Eskaire's eyes as he answers, "Shouldn't that be obvious?" It's really not. Dién tells him so. "Oh, Dién," Eskaire laughs, once more sounding gleefully exasperated, "Favorite of all my chosen. Let me show you."

A wave of the god's scale-spotted hand, and it's like a huge pressure has suddenly been lifted off of Dién: the muscles in his arms still hurt, but his legs obey instantly when Eskaire gestures for him to stand up and follow. He's already halfway across the room, trailing in Eskaire wake, when Dién finally realizes that the water he’s walking through is pulling him along, easing his motions and softening the impact of his steps. 

It's a masterful manipulation; it's also very much not Dién's own doing. 

He wonders briefly whether he could get it to stop prodding him along, if he were to try to manipulate it himself. His mastery of the Veil has always been exemplary, powerful and precise in a way that only few of his opponents had ever been able to match — but against a god? The god who gave him the ability to command the water in the first place? It seems like a singularly bad idea, and so, though he grits his teeth, Dién allows himself to be pushed through the now open door. 

Whatever he expected to lie beyond it — a hallway, if he were being particularly mundane, or another room — the sight that greets him is definitely not it. 

It’s nothing. There’s nothing there. Dién can still feel the water surrounding him, suffusing everything; can see it, too, and can feel that he’s floating in it, but there’s nothing _solid_ as far as his eyes can see save for the slightest shimmer so far up above him that it might as well not have been there at all. He closes his eyes. Opens them after a deep breath of water. In the distance to either side he can now see schools of fish swimming, but when he turns back to the door he’s just passed through, he’s only greeted by the sight of yet more water. 

“A little trick, to ease you into things,” Eskaire explains. “But unnecessary now. Look, down there.” 

Dién follows his god’s outstretched arm, pointing downwards, at something far below them. It takes a moment before he can properly make sense of what he’s seeing, water and the sheer scale of it throwing him off. It looks like a rent in the very fabric of reality, at first. Pure darkness cuts through the water below them in a ragged gash that stretches out to either side as far as Dién can see — and as he watches, he begins to make out just enough detail so see that the small, finger-sized specks darting about its edges are the kind of ship-sized kraken he’s only twice had the misfortune of running afoul of.

Vertigo hits Dién with unexpected intensity at that realization. He doubles over on himself as the reality of the situation hits him: he’s floating in the domain of his god, small and insignificant and dead, and—

Eskaire catches him by the wrist, pulling Dién towards him with an ease that is almost frightening in its casualness. Still reeling, Dién lets himself be pulled around until his back is to Eskaire. He still can’t take his eyes off of the wound of pure darkness below.

“The abyss leading into the true Depths, where my siblings hold court,” Eskaire explains with a nod towards the thing deep below. With another deceptively off-handed motion he grabs for Dién’s other wrist, and begins to slowly, almost gently, pull both of his arms behind his back. “My domain sits between the Depths and the topside world — my brothers and sisters don’t care for this inbetween realm, but I’ve always found it fascinating. It offers _so_ many singularly entertaining opportunities.” 

With a soft titter, Eskaire moves his hold on Dién’s wrists until he’s got the fingers of one scale-spotted hand wrapped around both. Eskaire presses his now-free hand between Dién’s shoulder blades and pushes, until Dién has no choice but to allow the god to pitch him forward so that he’s leaning out over the abyss, his arms stretching out behind him, held fast by Eskaire’s grip on his bruised wrists. 

“I could drop you right now, and the water wouldn’t catch you,” Eskaire tells him, tone almost conversational if it weren’t for the slight edge to it, the notion that he _would_ drop Dién into the Depths if he took a liking to the idea. “It would only take a moment for you to leave my realm and pass . . . on.” 

Dién can’t help a shiver of fear at the idea and, with what little leverage he can muster from his awkward position, he pulls away from the edge of the abyss until he’s all but backed up into Eskaire.

The god laughs again. “But where would be the fun in that?” He shifts behind Dién, not relinquishing his hold on his wrists in the slightest, but adjusting his position until his chest is pressing against Dién’s back, cold to the touch with an intensity Dién hadn’t expected. Dién shivers again, but before he can make any attempt to pull away, Eskaire’s other hand suddenly comes up to wrap around his throat, fingers digging in claw-like as he mutters, “And I’ve so been looking forward to having fun with you, Dién.”

His throat is tight not only from Eskaire’s grip on it as he presses out, “What?”

Whatever last shreds of uncertainty still remained quickly fade away as Eskaire rolls his hips, and Dién, with a sharp intake of breath — _water_ , his mind corrects, frantically — feels what can only be the god’s cock pressing up against his lower back. 

And Eskaire, sounding as amiable as ever, leans down until his lips are brushing against Dién’s ear and whispers, “You accepted my blessing. You _begged_ for it. You found my temple, you offered yourself to me, and because you intrigued me — I accepted.” Teeth scrape at his skin now, and the fingers still wrapped around his wrists grip tighter, digging in until it feels like he’s shackled all over again. “And now that you’ve finally died, I can collect on your end of our bargain.” 

Dién starts to protest, pulling against Eskaire’s hold on him. He’d wanted power, yes, had needed it fast after deserting the Protectorate, and when he’d heard rumors about the hidden temple of an almost-forgotten ocean deity, Dién had acted quickly. But he’d never agreed to—he’d never _offered_ himself. He wouldn’t have. He’d just—asked for power. And with a sickening twist in his stomach, Dién realizes that as he stood in front of the algae-covered altar so many years ago, he never quite put any thought to what might be expected of him in return.

Dién lets out a low curse.

“If you’d rather I just drop you, as it were, and send your soul onwards to the true Depths, you need only say the word. My siblings do so like fresh meat, and I wouldn’t want to deprive them.” And with that, Eskaire relinquishes his hold both on Dién’s wrists and his throat.

The true Depths, or this — as much as Dién hates it, it’s no choice at all. He’s heard the cautionary tales since he was just a child; has seen, first-hand, the pure malignant chaos the gods of the Depths could wreak on the world outside of the oceans. Down there, in the very heart of their own domain . . . he wouldn’t survive. He’d go insane twice over before they’d even begin to consider killing him. 

And so, with as much solemn determination as he can muster under the circumstances, he turns around to face Eskaire and pulls his head back just far enough until he’s showing his throat in a gesture the god can’t possibly misinterpret. 

Eskaire’s smile is sharp and too wide by far. “Good. I knew I’d picked right with you.” His touch his sickeningly gentle as he reaches out to run a cold hand through Dién’s hair, and when Dién can’t help a slight flinch at his touch the smile grows wider still, revealing another set of sharp teeth just behind the first one. “Worth the long wait, too.”

He can get through this, Dién tells himself, even as it becomes increasingly difficult not to pull away as Eskaire indicates for him to come closer with a tug on his hair. The god skims a hand down Dién’s chest while the other mirrors the motion on his back, both coming to rest on his hips. His clothes—Dién startles at the thought. He’s not wearing any clothes, he realizes, and the more he thinks about it, the less certain he becomes that he’d been wearing any in the first place — though, surely he would have noticed if he’d been naked the whole time? How could he not have— 

His train of thought scatters as Eskaire digs his fingers into the meat of his ass. Dién hisses at the sharp pain but doesn’t pull away, though his instincts scream at him to get as far away as he possibly can. 

“Look at you,” Eskaire all but coos, his eyes roaming across the expanse of Dién’s scar-striped chest. “Those last few years really took their toll on you, didn’t they?” 

Dién allows himself a soft noise of indignation and nothing else, his eyes flickering down to the abyss before he forces himself to turn back to Eskaire. The god’s watching him with an unreadable glint in his eyes, and the smile he now turns on Dién bodes ill.

But perhaps he can still wrestle at least some amount of control from the god. Dién swallows hard, sets his shoulders. “What would you have of me?” He licks his lips, quite deliberately, and cocks his head at Eskaire.

The god smiles. “Go on.”

Having little choice but to follow through now, Dién sinks to his knees, the water turning impressively solid as his legs press down into it. When he looks back up at Eskaire, he can’t help but have his gaze drawn to the obvious erection tenting the loose-fitting pants the god is wearing. 

After an impatient nod from Eskaire, Dién reaches up to pull down his pants. The cock that’s revealed is just as vaguely _off_ in its proportions as the rest of the god is, something subtly wrong with its considerable length that Dién can’t properly pin down. It’s ridged as well, two almost ring-like protrusions encircling the god’s shaft near the tip and close to the base; like the rest of the body now revealed to Dién, the god’s cock is spotted intermittently with silverish scales, only barely raised up from the skin.

“Well? Have at it, Dién,” Eskaire tells him, one of his hands twining into Dién’s hair and pulling him forward onto his cock.

In an effort to not immediately choke Dién makes a show of lapping at the tip, slowly working his way down it until his lips stretch around the head. It feels even larger than it already looked, and before he can even begin to despair at the prospect of taking it all, Eskaire rocks his hips forward pushes his cock further into Dién’s mouth. He splutters as best as he can, unable to pull off with Eskaire’s fingers still firmly twined into his hair — and then Eskaire pushes forward again, nudging at the back of his throat.

Dién’s eyes go wide and he only just manages to fight down the urge to gag. Another roll of Eskaire’s hips has his cock shoving down into Dién’s throat, squeezing the breath out of him with its bruising size, the first ridge rubbing against the soft flesh of his throat with awful slowness. Only when his nose is pressed against the god’s scale-spotted abdomen does Eskaire relent. He grows still, and Dién, with great effort, tries to get at least a few breaths in through his nose. 

Eskaire groans. “You’re so good. Definitely worth the long wait.” And then he starts moving.

It’s overwhelming. Far from the first time Dién’s had a cock shoved down his throat, the bruising tightness of it is quickly enough to make his eyes water. Eskaire sets a rough rhythm of short, stabbing thrusts that Dién can do little to influence, too busy gasping whenever Eskaire pulls out far enough for him to get a breath in. 

Before long, the god’s grip on his hair grows tighter, the thrusts quicker and deeper until, with a low groan, he buries himself as far down Dién’s throat as he can. Given little choice, Dién swallows around the cock in his throat as best as he can, gulping down the god’s curiously cold come as his cock gives a last few twitches.

With a sigh, Eskaire lets go of his hair and pulls out, taking a satisfied little step back.

And Dién, he has always been good at recognizing an opportunity when it all but stares him in the face. He blinks the tears out of his eyes, and, tentatively, uses the water to push himself up to his feet again. It obeys him.

And then, with as much power as he can muster, he grabs hold of the water around him with his Veil-given gift and _pushes._ He’s propelled upwards and away from Eskaire within seconds, moving as fast as he can get the water to help him. Shooting away from the god and up, up, where somewhere surely the surface— 

Gigantic teeth clamp around his leg and force him to come to an abrupt halt. The water, too, slips out of his hold on it. The pain lasts only for a moment before growing strangely dull, and while Dién is still trying to process what just happened the teeth retreat and he’s flipped around in the water.

Before him, hanging in the water with an unnatural ease belying its size, looms a leviathan. The head alone is almost the size of Dién’s whole body, and the deep silver scales covering the long, snake-like body must be as large his hand. Four wing-like fins sprout from the coiled body, with another, slighter set tapering off at the end of its tail. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the leviathan’s voice resounds in Dién’s head. In front of him, for just a moment, the enormous beast’s form flickers to that of Eskaire’s. “Where would you go?”

Then, quicker than Dién can follow, the gigantic creature surges forward. Eskaire wraps the great coils of his body around Dién with little effort. They hold him tight for a moment, then retreat, Eskaire’s serpentine body unwinding around him until he’s pressed lengthwise along Dién. 

There’s a low, self-satisfied laugh in Dién’s mind. “What say you we have another go at this?”

Dién can’t help but turn his head and watch as the great body above and behind him shifts, and the leviathan’s cock pushes out from past the scales. It’s immense. Ridiculously, utterly immense, at least half as long as Dién’s whole body and shaped like the god’s cock had been in his human form, ridged and scale-spotted — and Eskaire shifts his scaled body and presses it between his legs, pushing them open while Dién is still too horrified by the sight to do much else but let him. 

The head of it is wetter still than the water they’re both swimming in, and even as the tip of it nudges against Dién’s entrance he knows that it won’t possible fit. Even as he starts to protest, Eskaire begins pressing the tip of his cock insistently at Dién’s hole. 

“How tedious,” Eskaire’s voice echoes in his head, and with a sharp _twist_ the water around Dién grows cold for a second—

And his asshole suddenly feels open in a way it most certainly hadn’t before, clenching down on nothing. The sensation forces a startled gasp out of Dién. Then the head of Eskaire’s cock is pressing against him again, pushing at his hole — and it burns, the pressure of it, stretching the rim of his hole. But somehow — Veil-magic, Dién thinks hysterically — the tip pushes inside of him before long.

Dién can’t help it. He screams. 

The low rumbling laugh of the leviathan god is all he gets in response. “Think of my siblings down in the dark, if it makes it any easier on you.”

There’s no words as the head of the gigantic cock presses into him. The pressure is immense; Dién feels as if he’s being split open, his insides being rearranged by the sheer enormity of Eskaire’s cock pushing into him. By the time the first ridge of the shaft forces its way inside of him, Dién is sure that he can already feel Eskaire’s cock in his stomach — he doesn’t dare look down himself for fear of actually seeing it, but Eskaire’s low, appreciative groan is good enough of a tell. Dién shudders, his ass trying in vain to close around the enormous intrusion splitting him open. Every little shift of Eskaire’s enormous body causes his cock to twitch inside of Dién, and it feels like it’s punching the air right out of him.

“Good boy,” Dién hears Eskaire’s voice rumble in his head. “But let’s not stop just yet.”

It’s all the warning he gets as Eskaire’s great body coils further and he begins to push his cock deeper into Dién. There’s no way it can all fit, Dién’s mind screams at him, increasingly panicked as Eskaire continues to push and push. His body opens for the monstrous cock in a way Dién hadn’t thought possible, his guts giving way until he’s convinced he can feel the head of it prodding at his ribcage. 

Dién wheezes, a pained moan escaping him. This shouldn’t be possible. Eskaire’s cock is too big for him by far, the human body not made to take something so oversized— but he is in the heart of Eskaire’s domain. Human laws, human limitations, no longer applied.

When the second ridge of the leviathan’s cock finally insistently presses against Dién’s hole, all the fight goes out of him. He hangs, limp, as Eskaire pushes the last few lengths of his cock into him, and when the ridge rubs over his prostate, he comes with a defeated whimper. 

Eskaire is in his head again the moment some semblance of self returns to him. “I knew you’d be able to take me so well. My siblings were wrong. You _were_ worth the wait,” the god mutters appreciatively. His great coiled body moves ever so slightly as he speaks but it feels like the tides themselves crashing down, to Dién — every little twitch is an awful shift of Eskaire’s enormous cock inside of him, filling him up and up.

And then, continuing with a litany of praise, Eskaire begins to move in earnest. 

It’s pure agony. The first dragging pull back feels like it’s taking Dién’s insides with it, and when Eskaire uncoils his body and pushes back into Dién, he feels like he’s dying. Eskaire, uncaring for his pained gasps for breath, quickly sets up a steady rhythm, fucking the head of his cock in and out of Dién.

“—and I waited so long for you, didn’t I? I thought you’d last three years at best, but you made such a good effort at things that I let you have your fun up topside for a while longer, And oh,” Eskaire lets out a drawn-out, satisfied moan as he once more sheathes himself fully inside Dién, “you’re all the more beautiful for it.”

Dién can’t even find it in himself to protest anymore, only getting as far as a breathless whine.

Eskaire laughs again and, though Dién didn’t think it possible, starts fucking him harder still. It feels like all of the leviathan’s considerable strength is going into each and every long thrust until Dién can’t focus on anything else but the demanding drag of Eskaire’s cock moving through him. He lets himself be pushed and pulled and used — because what else can he do, against a god? 

It doesn’t take much longer before Eskaire’s thrusts turn erratic, pushing into Dién at angles that would have him screaming if he still had the wherewithal for it. Eskaire groans more praise into Dién’s mind when he finally spills, burying himself so deep inside Dién that he feels the icy cold of the god’s come suffusing his very soul. Instead of pulling out once he’s pushed the last few spurts into Dién, however, Eskaire instead gives another slow, languid thrust, nudging the ridges of his cock against Dién’s prostate until he’s forced to come again with a helpless shudder. 

The water around him grows cold, for a moment, and then Eskaire is back in his humanoid form, one hand splayed possessively over Dién’s abused ass while the other flits over his shoulder for a moment. Eskaire leans down to press his mouth against Dién’s neck, teeth scraping ever so slightly over the skin — and Dién, rounding up the last dredges of his strength, fights down a shudder. 

“That’s it; do make an effort,” Eskaire praises. His arms wrap tight around Dién in a mocking imitation of an embrace as the two of them continue to float high above the abyss. “There’d be no fun in it if you gave in too easily, would there?”

The shivers wracking Dién have very little to do with the teeth clamping down on his shoulder, now, and they don’t stop for a long time. 


End file.
